


and i can see your fever's on the rise

by earthandblood



Series: so i set a fire to everyone around but you [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta, Beta!Skye, Consent Issues, Coulson POV, F/M, No Plot/Plotless, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Rutting, Unresolved Sexual Tension, alpha!Phil, no porn either, sorry folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 10:52:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1602560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthandblood/pseuds/earthandblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crouched under the broken window front of a bombed out store, Coulson is definitely <em>not</em> thinking about how they are probably not going to make it to the extraction point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i can see your fever's on the rise

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [six cliches that never were](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1538492) by [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin). 



> this fic includes non-consensual drug use and the consent issues inherent in the a/b/o dynamic, but no actual non-con sex takes place.
> 
> i like a/b/o fic that features unconventional relationship dynamics. people should write them more often.
> 
> (also, i'm sorry this happened - no plot, no porn, what is this even ughughugh.)

Crouched under the broken window front of a bombed out store, Coulson is definitely _not_ thinking about how they are probably not going to make it to the extraction point.

He is definitely not thinking that when a smoke grenade whistles over their heads (doesn't think, is already moving in reaction, pushing Skye towards the door to their right).  Top level SHIELD agent reflexes but it doesn't matter; already there is the sickly, cloying taste on his tongue, already his eyes are tearing up at the tendrils of smoke trying to envelop them.

Skye stumbles through the door and he's her shadow, slams the door shut behind him.

 

The room they end up in is dark but Coulson knows they have to keep moving.  There's an alley behind the store and he's betting (hopinghopinghoping) there's the door to the outside somewhere in here.  He's reaching, tracing fingers quickly across the wall, keeping one hand on Skye's shoulder.  Usually at this point the mercenary, or homicidal robot, or monster comes charging through the door after them.  But there's nothing that he can hear; no crunch of glass, no crumble of plaster.

 _They're letting whatever they dosed you with do it's thing._   _Just waiting out the inevitable._ This is bad.  This is really, really bad.  He just stops himself from pulling at his suddenly itchy collar, back of his neck prickling hotly.  _Like he's in rut_. 

Today is really going all out for top five worst days ever.

Wait, Skye's pulling at his arm and whispering to him furiously?

" _Coulson_.  What was that?  Were they trying to smoke us out or something?  _Hey._ Are you even listening to me?"  He watches her face pull a very serious expression in the weak street light coming through the back window, "Are you okay?"

"I think it may have been some sort of chemical weapon, a drug maybe."  He takes a deep, reflexive breath to steady himself, and that...was definitely not one of his better ideas.  The scent of her is so much sharper, so much more than he has ever experienced during a rut on the Bus (more than any omega he has crossed paths with, and Skye is a beta and he is suddenly so much more terrified of the implications).  Skye is a burst of sea salt, cold ocean water in his face that steals the air from his lungs.  Skye is hot, humid air before a storm.  It's taking all his willpower not to crowd her, not to herd her away into a dark corner for him to guard.

 _Shitshitshit_.

"Drug?  Is that why you're all," she gestures hesitantly to his posture, "Alpha'd-out?"

Coulson nods (that might have looked a little frantic but he's _trying_ ); he has to hold things together till they can make it to the extraction point.  Maybe ignoring the "if they make it" conclusion will make it go away.

He takes another breath; maybe they need to get out of this building.  Skye just keeps staring at him, follows him willingly as he finds the door out to the back alley.

 

The alleys they cut through are pitch black, but his vision is so clear (imagines his pupils huge and black, eyes open wide like he's tripping - supposes he is tripping, in a way) Coulson sees every obstacle, every bit of trash, cracked pavement and concrete in their path and deftly maneuvers around them.

He forgets Skye is not tripping on artificial hormones, though.

"Ow, fuck!," he hears her cry out as she literally trips over a produce crate.  Instantly he finds himself hovering over her, fingers twitching.  He _needs_ to just pick her up, they could move faster, he could protect her better- _Stop.  It is the drug, this is not you_.

A desperate, frustrated whine works up from his throat and Coulson steps back, presses his hands against the brick wall behind him.

"Hey, hey it's okay I'm fine.  Don't wig out.  You know.  Any more than you already are."  Skye's voice is light in tone, if not a little forced but her face is still warm and friendly towards him.  Still, she doesn't move towards him (smart, smart girl), doesn't move away either and they both take a moment to catch their breath.

"Skye, whatever I've been affected with...this isn't a normal rut."  Coulson pulls the ICER from his jacket holster, knows he has to do this before he slips anymore because every minute that passes he feels himself slip just a little more.  "If I try to-"

Skye makes gasping, negative noise, then shoves her hand out to take it from him.  "You won't A.C.  I know you won't."

Of course.  This is how Skye is; how she is towards him always.  Coulson bites his tongue to keep the bitter laugh in his mouth.  This is a punishment.  He is being punished by yet another petty god.

He is being punished with this because he should have sent her off the plane when he had the first passing thought of her as anything more than as one of his employees. 

He is being punished because it's not even just idle fantasy (has _never_ been that); no, there are _feelings_ that he has spent months swallowing, burying, ignoring.

After-life crisis, indeed.

The sound of scuffling feet, far but getting closer, gets his attention, gets him thinking about something other than wanting to pull her against him.  Gets him thinking about something other than wanting to graze his teeth across the soft flesh of her neck-

"Coulson?"  Skye prods his foot with her own, doesn't dare touch him otherwise (and god, is he grateful for that).  "I think the extraction point is another block or two over, on the other side of this building maybe?"  A moment to regather his bearings and yes, yes she's right.  He feels himself nodding, swinging his gaze down to where the alley opens to the street, but it's too well lit, too open.  There's a side door leading into the abandoned AMF factory; they can cut through the ground floor hopefully undetected.

Coulson tries to stamp down the giddy rush at the prospect of he and Skye actually making it out of this alive (and emotionally unscathed) but his mouth still curves into a grin.  Skye smiles back, relief showing on her face and weaving through her scent.

He feels like he's reeling in a blue fin tuna (and not his own stupid, drugged self) but he manages to turn away from her, manages to force the factory door open. 

 

The air inside the factory is still, choked with dust (his nose itches with the amount they've kicked up already) and very quiet.

Too quiet, honestly because every little noise, every echo off the walls makes him fidgety; he feels painfully hyper aware of their surroundings and Skye is not helping when she keeps stopping abruptly, frozen like a prey animal waiting for a moment of danger to pass.

Yes, like a prey animal, her posture reads to him and it makes something dark twist in his gut, and _Jesus_ his cock hasn't been this ridiculously hard since he was in high school and he can't even help himself, doesn't even consciously think about; just slides his fingers through her hair, tightening his grip just enough to get her attention (as if his fingers in her hair hadn't already).

"Skye," and his voice is ragged, absolutely wrecked, "I'm sorry.  I don't think I can... _stop this_."  She has the ICER clutched in her hand (his good, smart girl) but she hasn't raised it to him yet and what is she waiting for?  Can't she see how utterly _gone_ he is?  

 _Oh_.  There, beneath the salt and water of her scent, like a swipe of honey across his mouth.  But she?...she hasn't been acting like she got dosed. 

"Shit, Coulson."  She's pulling away from him, pushing him away and the drug in him is screaming in protest; a warning growl claws it's way up out of his chest before he can stop it and he can see the whites of her eyes, can see her face fall, _mortified_.  "God, this is terrible.  I just- do you know how _long_ I've wanted you to look at me like this?"

Coulson's honestly having a little trouble following her (between the artifical rut haze and the fact that he's pretty sure all the blood in his body has drained into his cock by now, coherent thoughts seems like sort of a far-off dream for him) and his face must look really confused because Skye just keeps rambling at him.

"I mean, I'm fine with being a beta.  But growing up?  Reading all those ridiculous Alpha/omega fairytales?  Seeing others around me get swept up in...well, sometimes a girl...And you, you came out of nowhere and helped turn my life around.  And you're smart, and so competant, and okay, yes, the Alpha posturing can be pretty hot, but you also look at me like you really trust me.  You look at me and I feel like I finally have a  _home_.  I've tried really hard not to think about it, tried really hard to not nurture this crush, these _feelings_ , because you seriously could have any omega in the world so why would you ever, ever in a million years even think of me in that way?  Why, in a million years, would you ever look at me the way you're looking at me right now?" 

Skye huffs out a breath and she looks a moment away from crying, then keeps going, "You're intoxicated, drugged to the gills, and I can't- _won't_ indulge my stupid selfish feelings, not when it would hurt you.  You don't want this, don't want _me,_ " her voice is shaky, hands shaking as she levels the ICER at him.

His brain is still stuck on _she wants me_ when a shot cracks through the silence; the sound snaps his last thread of control, there is red in his eyes, the smell of her blood iron-heavy in his mouth.  She's dropped the ICER, wrapped a hand around her upper arm to staunch the bleeding.  He has to let go, gives up gives in to it, ignores the pain in his arms when he breaks the window, ignores her cries as he all but throws her out said broken window.

Coulson turns to face the AIM agent who's tracked them down.  The man _reeks_ of fear, and he's trying to pull his posture into something more intimidating, but Coulson knows how _Alpha_ he appears to the agent. 

A knowing smirk, and he charges forward, dipping and weaving around the shots fired at him, revels in the satisfying crunch of bone when his fist collides with the agent's face.  A twist and pull of the man's arm and he goes down, crying out at the compound fracture Coulson has caused.

 _Yesyesyesyes defendhurtmore-_ _Killkillkill,_ the drug is pushing him forward, he will destroy this person for trying to hurt Skye.

He- feels the impact, the push of something chemical on his nervous system.  The AIM agent writing at his feet is forgotten; Coulson turns with a roar, hotly indignant at being attacked from behind.  But...it's May?  Aiming the ICER at him? She frowns at him, "Jesus, Phil," and shoots him again since apparently whatever he's been drugged with has no problem overcoming the effects of the dendrotoxin.

This time he crumples to the floor, sweet, sweet blackness pushing away all the red.

 

It's the lab's harsh overhead lighting that greets him when he comes to.  He's sweaty and sore, feeling very much like he just ran a marathon at full sprint.

But, he doesn't feel like he's in an artificially induced rut.  Which is a good thing.

"Oh hey, you're awake.  Welcome back, boss."  And there she is; Skye's perched on a stool, tablet in hand like she's been quietly working away while watching over him.  Coulson sighs at the sight, and _thank god_ her scent is back to normal.  Soft and clean and calming, and he smiles a bit dopily at her in response.

"Nice to see you to, sir," she says with a cheeky grin, "Simmons said the AIM drug should be completely metabolized by tomorrow so you'll be feeling back to normal just in time for the scheduled team dinner tomorrow night.  Get excited, cause I'm making meatloaf."  Skye waggles her eyebrows and the laugh that bubbles up out of him is tired but genuine.

 _She's trying to put herself at ease,_ he thinks when he really takes a moment to observe her; the curling in of her shoulders, the way she won't maintain eye contact with him for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Skye..."

"Look," she starts, scoots closer to him on the edge of the stool, "I'm so sorry for dumping all of... _that_ on you when you were incapable of dealing with it.  It was selfish and unfair of me, and if you want to pretend that part of our little misadventure never happened, then I totally understand.  I mean, it sucks, but I've gotten pretty good at pretending about this..." 

He's watching her shrink, deflate during this, words dropping off into disappointed mumbles and Coulson makes a decision.  Skye's looking at the floor now, not paying attention to him, and so he slips his hand in hers, squeezing gently to make her look up.

"Maybe I don't want to pretend anymore, Skye."  The shocked look on her face hurts his heart, but before this, before HYDRA, before AIM...he couldn't entertain even a serious thought about them, _together_.

"Anymore?"  Her voice is timid, cracking beneath the weight of her restraint and Coulson hates this, hates that this is her reaction, hates that she has never gotten anything she's really wanted before.  He wants to give her everything in this moment.

"Nope.  I've had... _alot_ of feelings, about you, about us.  And those were all long before today."  Coulson sighs, lays his head back down, suddenly tired.  "I really want to kiss you right now, but I'm afraid you won't take it as sincere, since I'm still a little..." he trails off, free hand flailing uselessly.

"You do?!" Skye squeaks out and her fingers tighten around his hand.  He nods around a yawn (he probably burned at least two days worth of calories in the past few hours) and lets his eyes slide shut. 

That's when he feels it; her lips pressed, closed-mouth, against his.  Cool and dry but there's _alot_ behind the gentleness of her mouth.  When she pulls away he looks up at her drowsily, smiling back at her smiling face.

"Yes, yes, there will be lots of talking and kissing, and jeez Coulson, I just- but yes, of course, get some rest don't let me distract you."  Skye gives his hand one last squeeze, then goes back to working on her tablet.

He lets himself drop off, surrounded by the comfort of her; salt and water and _Skye_.


End file.
